


Not Again

by claro



Series: And Yet Not [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Kink, M/M, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:10:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4391393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claro/pseuds/claro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>soMe times it's not what you think. And mycroft really needs to learn to lock his door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Again

**Author's Note:**

> a short little fic to keep you from hating me. I know I promised to update Not Us over the weekend but it turns out I'm a big fat liar. So here's something to make up for it. I've had this little scene in my head since I started this verse but I haven't had a chance to use it yet. enjoy.

Sherlock trailed behind John without enthusiasm. A trip to Mycroft's office was never an enjoyment and Sherlock was just about keeping his inner child in check, and that was only because John had used Captain John voice and been very clear that all bedroom privileges would be withdrawn with immediate effect.

'In, out and no fighting.' 

Sherlock bit back a retort and nodded. Instead he spent the cab ride over coming up with things to do to John, or, more  specifically, things he could convince John to do to him that night.

Mycroft's office was empty bar Anthea, who was climbing out of one of Mycroft's black cars, a bundle of manilla files in her arms. She frowned at them, but before she could speak there was a yell from down the hall followed by a loud crack and someone was shouting in Russian.

Anthea's eyes went round and she looked down the hallway where John was already running, gun magically appearing in his hand. As another scream rang out, Sherlock took off after John. Someone was getting tortured if the sounds of screaming and the harsh slap of leather on skin filled the air. This visit was looking up.

Hampered by her heels, the files she was holding scattering across the carpet, it took Anthea longer to make it to the door. Which Sherlock, at a nod from John, threw open. And stopped.

Bent over the desk, hands tied and naked from the waist down was Lestrade. Over him loomed a figure in full uniform, riding crop in hand. Lestrade loomed up, face flushed and beaded with sweat. He said something in french that even John, his face already burning, understood as something very not good.

Mycroft gave them a glare that put  Medusa to shame.

John started to back out the door just as Anthea reached them, a small pistol in her perfectly manicured hands. She stopped behind John and took in the scene laid out before them and then sighed loudly.

'Not again.'

 

 

 

 


End file.
